Pain eats into me like acid, sapping me of everything.
I cannot think. I cannot write. I lay down on a chair,
And rub my hip, and fall asleep again. I'll rise in time
To walk and wince, and then I'll find another seat.
The codeine's done nothing for me. The pain remains,
And I'm exhausted. I'm not sure what I should do.
I have no use for consciousness, for art. Despite
The metaphors, the sand ingested hasn't made a pearl.
All it's done is grind away at joints in parts of me,
Producing not one word of poesy,
Only anguished cries.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 45 times
Written on 2017-12-10 at 01:42

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Damn, I'm never gonna see arthritis the same again.

Rob Graber
Beyond a certain point, pain overwhelms all else, erasing all but itself. Eloquent.

josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Damn! I’m with you in spirit and corporeally. Seems that most of my days are spend being amazed at what I can no longer do without some discomfort of another. Obviously written directly from some “best be forgotten” joint somewhere! 😜